The Language of the Indirect
by Katherine Quinn
Summary: When you speak the language of the indirect, some things are better left unsaid.  A/O


She should have known it was a mistake from the start.

Hell, she did know it was a mistake from the start, but it was obvious to everyone that Alex had her wrapped around her little finger. She finally had admitted it to herself. Between Elliot making whipping sounds at her at work and Munch's unbearable sexual innuendos that plagued her every single time the blonde attorney made an appearance in their squad room, she knew that she had very little chance.

As she ran her fingers through her short brown hair, she couldn't help but sigh. So now, standing across from her silent blonde companion, she was reminded of all the things that they could have done that would have been better than what they had. Something that would have never led to here—to this awkward place where both of them considered just walking away—an event that neither of them truly had the mechanics to manage.

Yet here they were, face to face. They lived in a city that never slept, and yet, together, they were alone in the crowd, isolated, not speaking, their minds in entirely different places as they faced each other searching for words that neither of them possessed.

It all started with her solid no, that a sappy romantic movie on a Saturday afternoon was a bad idea. Love stories and Olivia generally did not get along. She was a cop, after all. She was tough. She wasn't girly in that sappy romantic way that shimmered on the silver screen and threatened her hardcore persona.

Honestly, there was something too close for her about them. Unlike fighting aliens or running from monsters, falling in love was a dangerous territory full of landmines that could explode at any moment and take everyone out. She had sat through what seemed like an endless display of them with Alex—all of them making her slightly uncomfortable in an unsettling way that left her searching for a way out.

Worst of all, she found it led Alex to make comparisons between their lives together and those of the characters on the screen. Comparisons she probably wouldn't have made without the persuasion of two people so mad about each other that they practically consumed each other with lust. Suddenly the question of, "why aren't our lives mirrors of theirs?" echoed unspoken between them as Olivia felt Alex's eyes on her; the blonde seeming to be reminding herself that she did have other options that included that ravenous love that was so popular in those deep love stories that Olivia hated.

While the characters on screen chased each other through alleys and kissed passionately in the rain, Olivia was far happier with a more pedestrian love story. She had put time and effort into constructing her walls. She avoided public displays of affection at all costs, she just wasn't the type. She would never consciously enter a conversation about the state of their relationship if it was possible to avoid it and she had a hard time expressing deep feelings or love without using hand puppets. And to her, those were all good things. Stable things that she relied on daily.

But when Alex pouted at her and whined a plaintive, "why not?" she melted. Instead of doing what she wanted to do—what she should have done—which was list the millions of reasons she could think of that it was a bad idea, she went along with it, just to see Alex's smile.

Right from the beginning of the movie, Olivia's eyelids felt heavy and a mix of exhaustion and pure disinterest caused her to be less than engaged. As she shifted restlessly in her chair, she wished for an explosion. Alex, however, couldn't see Olivia's restless behavior because her eyes were red and puffy from the steady stream of tears that fell down her pale cheeks. She cried from the beginning of the movie to the end.

When the character on the screen coughed, a sure sign that death would occur within twenty minutes, Alex sobbed uncontrollably. When Olivia coughed, Alex hit her in the shoulder, hard, and told her to be quiet. "I hope she dies soon," Olivia muttered under her breath which earned her another slap and a look that translated to "If you don't shut up now, you will be very sorry because I will punish you for a very, very, very long time."

Olivia sighed which earned her another dirty look from Alex.

As they left the theatre, Olivia shoved her hands deep in her pockets and with a sheepish grin looked over at Alex and asked "Do you always cry at comedies?"

"Sometimes you can be an obnoxious ass," Alex replied wiping the remaining tears from her eyes, setting her face in stone and marching ahead of Olivia out the door and into the street.

Olivia sighed again. The charge was not entirely fair for she wasn't entirely unfeeling, but the movie brought out an ugly side of her. Besides, obnoxious ass was something she was sure could be plea bargained down to a simple insensitive if given the time and the proper consideration of the attorney marching ahead of her.

But Alex knew her, knew she wasn't entirely serious, Olivia was sure. But as she looked over at Alex, appraising the situation, she realized that the look on Alex's face was one of disappointment. It was as though her life had passed her by—and had stopped momentarily to punch her in the stomach. The look was not comforting in the least and as Olivia stayed a step behind Alex on the busy street, she had plenty of time to think about her girlfriends delicate sensibilities.

Standing on the street, shifting her weight from foot to foot, Olivia swallowed hard. If she was going to get out of this, she would have to take the lead. She wanted to just say it—all the things swirling around in her mind. The "I love you's," the "I'm sorry's." She wanted to say it, but she had left her hand puppets at home and that left her mouth dry and her shoulders tense. "Alex," she swallowed, as she stopped the blonde with a touch to her shoulder. Alex turned, the redness in her face still there, as she sniffled. "I, um, you know." Olivia managed, her fingers snaking through her short hair as she nervously bit her lip.

"I know, um, me too." Alex said, the slight smile returning to her face just like that as the seeming disappointment faded into nothingness.

And there it was. The language of the indirect. This is why she loved the blonde with all her heart. The words were unnecessary. Alex understood that "you know," simply meant I'm sorry and I love you all in one. At the same time, Olivia understood that Alex's "me too," told Olivia all she needed to know. The actual words would include a straightforwardness that neither of them were capable of—not when it came to emotions.

Instead, they found it much easier to communicate with their eyes. With their smiles. They knew each other than well—with their own type of passion that didn't require those large scale romantic gestures. Instead, their few syllables nervously exchanged meant more than chasing each other in a rainy alley ever could. As the slight grin warmed Olivia's face, her simple apology having been accepted, their love reaffirmed, she could finally breathe—her own personal love story safe and much better than anything that could light up a flickering screen.


End file.
